


Luftschloss

by zinikornis



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Bittersweet, Doctor Charles Xavier, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Parent Erik Lehnsherr, dadneto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinikornis/pseuds/zinikornis
Summary: It started as a fluffy Dadneto fic, I promise. And it still is. Dad!Erik and doctor!Charles can warm your heart.They meet because of Pietro. At the end Wanda fixes everything.((Hopefully.))
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Luftschloss

**Author's Note:**

> The story was inspired by this prompt but then it became a little different:  
> https://amaranth42.tumblr.com/post/178819208068/some-good-news-for-your-day-also-cherik-prompt
> 
> Magyarul: https://andweweremadlyinlove.blogspot.com/2020/12/luftschloss.html

_/ ˈlʊftʃlɔs /_

_Substantiv, Neutrum [das]_

_castle in the air,_ _  
_ _(fig.) a fantasy, an unrealistic dream_

Erik Lehnsherr is doing great, thank you very much. The kids too. No need to worry whatsoever. The life of a single dad isn’t all fun and laughter, it has to be said of course, but beyond having said that, as for himself, he is doing absolutely great. And the kids, well, they are alive, so everything is perfectly fine.

“Dad?” Pietro is wandering towards Erik in a slightly slower pace than usual. “My tummy hurts.”

Well, they are _alive_. Erik feels like he can’t guarantee any more than that.

Erik throws the Sunday newspaper to the table (it’s Monday), and on his way to the bathroom, he grabs his child incidentally. He runs the tub ‒ the first few liters must be let down the drain, must be wasted because it’s too rusty ‒, and he kneels down to undress the little boy. While doing so, he presses a kiss to the naked tummy, and promises warm milk before bedtime. When the tub, the side of which is dented by Pietro, is full, Erik puts the boy in it who, in that instant, starts a submarine expedition.

Erik peaks into the room where Wanda is sitting up straight _(levitating?)_ on her otherwise carefully made bed with neatly braided scarlet red hair. She is reading a book which was not written for her age group but she has never been impressed by those colorful children’s books full of pictures.

“Sweetheart,” Erik calls, “come to bathe.”

Precisely, she places a bookmark among the pages and stands up obediently. In the bathroom she drops her long nightdress on the ground, and hops in the tub beside her twin. Erik realizes with a frown that the boy managed to make some kind of mess even in this short amount of time: a small lake decorates the bathroom floor. How long was he away? Two minutes? Less? Erik sighs. He attracts ‒ uhm, _grabs_ ‒ the metal pole of the mop and begins to clean the tiles. As Wanda is bathing methodically, she keeps cawing to Pietro in a disciplinary manner who then follows her example and starts actually cleaning himself but he can’t focus on duties for more than a few minutes, instead he keeps spotting interesting details on the wall, the bottom of the tub, behind his sister. Erik is silently watching them, and as a matter of fact, he is grateful for his insufferable children.

Wanda gets out of the tub without having to order her to, wraps herself in her red towel, and puts toothpaste on her toothbrush while Erik is drying Pietro’s wet hair with the grey towel. Pietro is chattering without a stop. Out of fatherly concern, Erik pulls the boy’s pajama on his mouth. Then he ‒ unawarely ‒ unplugs the tub sink with a wave of his hands, and helps Pietro brush his teeth (or, rather, he helps him focus on it), meanwhile Wanda puts her nightdress back on, and walks out of the bathroom.

After the nighttime routine, Erik tugs the twins in bed and kisses them both on the forehead (luckily, Pietro forgot the warm milk he was promised). Finally, as his mother had always done, and as he does now every night, he says: “ _Bis morgen ohne Kummer und Sorgen,_ ” and closes the door behind himself.

Some kind of silly pop song sounds. Erik wipes the dirt from his hands into his workman’s trousers, and pulls out his phone with a grimace. These kids nowadays know too much about technology.

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Mr. Lehnsherr, I’m calling about your children. There is something I’d like to discuss with you. If you’d care to come to the school sometime, please?…”

So that afternoon when he goes to pick up the kids, Erik cares to come to her office.

“Moira MacTaggert,” she extends her hand. Erik touches it reluctantly. “I’ll be straight with you, Mr. Lehnsherr. I believe your son might have ADHD. Have you experienced signs that might indicate this as well?”

“Humm,” says Erik, wrinkling his forehead responsibly. No, he hasn’t. He should definitely pay more attention to his children.

The woman slides a card towards him on the wooden tabletop (but its frame ‒ he _feels_ ‒ is made of metal). “In Pietro’s best interest, I advise you to seek help from this doctor. He’s the best in town, if not in the whole country.”

Without glancing at it, Erik pockets the card. He leaves the office, troubled.

_He should definitely pay more attention to his children_ , his own advice echoes in his head. And Erik takes it, immediately at dinner that evening.

With a kind smile, he asks: “How was your day, kids?”

Wanda watches him with a scowl and stays quiet.

Pietro starts talking, weirdly leisurely. “During Literature class, I almost managed to throw my eraser into the trash can without the teacher noticing…”

Erik sighs deeply and proceeds with a smile. “Good job.”

“I said almost.”

“Wanda, how did your day go?”

The girl finds the situation weird, evidently; she squints and only says: “Fine.”

“Oh, and,” Pietro continues, encouraged now, “I finally won over Tanny during lunch break.”

“In what?”

“But daaad, I’ve told you this so many times.”

“The kid you’re fighting with?” Erik desperately tries to scrape the cracking mask of the _model father_ back on.

“Yup!”

Erik fails in trying. “Pietro, we’ve discussed this! No fighting in school! After school, I don’t care, do whatever you want. But do it well.”

Wanda lets out a relieved sigh.

The clinic is spacious and white, and most of it is made of metal. At the reception they are welcomed by a delicate smile, under which an attractive woman hides. _Raven_ , her name tag informs Erik.

“Xavier Private Practice, what can I help you with?”

“Ehm. We have an appointment.”

“Under what name?”

“Lehnsherr.”

The woman’s face looks worried in a way Erik would recognise now on anyone, even with his eyes closed. He leans on the desk and spells it. The kids wander in; Wanda sits on a bench painted white ‒ it _vibrates_ ‒, Pietro zigzags around her. Erik tries to flirt ‒ his attempts seem to fail heinously but Raven enjoys it.

A little while later Wanda screams shortly, and in an instant, Erik appears next to her protectively (did the trash can move or‒). On the stomach of the girl’s favorite, weary teddy bear is a gaping tear; a fistful of jumbled cotton is vomited on the tiles.

Pietro stares at his feet. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“I thought so,” says Wanda.

“I’m sorry.”

Wanda huffs resignedly. Erik, in hopes of being encouraging and, by the way, proud, caresses her back.

“Pay more attention to your environment, Pietro,” he adds, as a touch of discipline.

The door next to them opens then (the metal clips creak mutely); a boy walks out, and a remarkably pretty face pops out behind him.

“I’ll see you next week, Alex!” The man attached to the remarkably pretty face waves, then turns to Erik and the kids with a cheerful smile. “Welcome, come on in,” he steps away from the door a little.

“I’m completely unnecessary here,” Raven mumbles, and puts up her legs on the table in protest.

“But I’m paying you,” the man winks.

Erik slides in next to the body standing in the door, and quickly glances down at him along the way. The man is approximately a head shorter than himself, around a few years younger, and almost as if the metals on him came to life when he looks back up at him for a split second. Erik hurries in and sits in an elegant chair next to her daughter, the leather sizzles under him. Pietro is standing, fidgeting, goggling beside his sister.

“What a palace,” Erik acknowledges.

The doctor shrugs and grins widely. “That’s all I can afford.” Erik raises an eyebrow cynically. “Well, welcome everyone, I’m Dr. Charles Xavier. What seems to be the problem you’ve come to me with?”

Erik cleares his throat. “Erik Lehnsherr. And the twins,” he points at the twins, “Wanda and Pietro. We’re here because of my son. His teacher suggests ADHD.”

The man tears his oh-so-beautifully blue gaze from Erik, and eyes the silver-haired boy instead who is harassing a plant in the corner. Erik snarls curtly: “ _Nicht_ ,” and Pietro runs back so fast, Erik can’t see the motion.

Dr. Xavier watches the scene in a thinking position: arms folded on the table and two fingers pressed on his temple. Then he exclaims cheerfully: “This is just wonderful! Mr. Lehnsherr,” he leans forward, “I am extremely glad you have chosen my services. If you all would be so kind and follow me to the examining room, I’d like to run a few tests on Pietro.” The man jumps up and opens a door. The family walks into the other room.

Stepping into the room that seems like, wildly put, an operating room of some sort, Erik starts to _tingle_ ‒ all the metals, everything’s metal ‒, and the doctor eyes him briefly, and he shuffles his feet, embarrassed, like a naughty child who has been caught in midst of mischief.

“Pietro, could you please lie down on that bed?” Dr. Xavier points across the room. Pietro nods and he’s there. “Excellent,” the doctor murmurs. “Please, Mr. Lehnsherr, could you follow me?”

Erik hesitates, he has a weird feeling about all of this, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words, but he fulfils the request of the _magically attractive_ man. They stand behind a glass wall, the doctor sits in a chair and clicks on the computer in front of him. He always leans to the microphone and warns Pietro before doing anything. Some minutes later an outline of a brain loads on the screen.

The doctor stares at Erik with amusement. “Your son’s brain is amazing.”

Erik hems in surprise. “Thanks, I guess. Uhm, why?”

“Mr. Lehnsherr, did you know I wrote my thesis about the subject of mutation, specialized in it, and created my private practice based on this principle?”

Erik frowns and squints. “Mutation?”

“Do not make an impetuous judgement, please. It is the base of genetics and the key to our evolution. It has enabled us to evolve from single-celled organisms into the most dominant reproductive species on the planet. I believe your son’s so-called problem isn’t ADHD at all, it is something far greater: superhuman speed. With your blessing, and of course Pietro’s, I could help him learn to use his power, and it could quickly become an advantage, rather than a disadvantage.”

Erik is thinking, wrinkling his forehead, then he says confidently: “No, Dr. Xavier, I believe I can not let you proceed with this.”

Although the man lists countless reasons ‒ the evolution of humanity and so forth ‒, Erik can’t be convinced, in fact, he stands on opposing points of view regarding many questions. They finally come to a compromise: the doctor is allowed to take a blood sample from Pietro (naturally, with the boy’s consent, Dr. Xavier emphasises), then they won’t see each other ever again.

So it happens that Dr. Xavier is standing beside the bed where Pietro is sitting, or at least he’s trying to, and pushes a needle in the little boy’s soft, white elbow. The small vial fills with thick liquid ‒ his son’s _mutation_ is in there, everything is in there ‒, and he presses cotton to the little point where he stung. A tiny red stain forms on the white fabric, slowly spreading.

While the doctor is organizing the metal equipment on the table (clink, clink, clinking in Erik’s insides), Wanda speaks quietly:

“Dr. Xavier?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you think you could fix my teddy bear too?”

The man smiles at the little girl holding the torn bear. As Erik is opening his mouth to discourage his daughter, the doctor says: “Of course,” and an unreasonable warmth runs through Erik as Wanda hands over the toy above the table full of clink-clink-clink.

Once again, Dr. Xavier puts on cold rubber gloves and a thin mask and magnifying glasses. He reaches for something that looks like thread and something else that looks like clips.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, could you please pass the scissors?”

Half of the man’s face is covered with the mask but Erik sees a challenging smile underneath for some reason, and it seems as if his eyes… as if his eyes could see right through him. Erik doesn’t break eye contact, _he can’t_ , and pays little to no attention to the scissors as he gives them to the man; he only realizes, as if waking from a trance, that the object was _floating_ when the doctor grabs it from the air.

“Just as I imagined,” says Dr. Xavier with satisfaction. “Thank you.”

And the doctor starts the operation.

Days pass and Erik can not keep his mind off of Dr. Charles Xavier. Weeks pass and Dr. Charles Xavier is still in Erik’s head.

At last, he eventually storms into the office of the clinic with an angry Raven behind him who’s repeating the doctor can’t be disturbed just like that; but the doctor is sitting alone in his office and Erik sits down in front of the table.

“I’ve been waiting for your visit,” Dr. Xavier announces, and Raven, rolling her eyes, turns around irritatedly, shutting the door on them.

Erik stares at the smiling man. When he finally speaks, his words are cutting and determined. “You can help my son. But only with me.”

The man squints at him knowingly. “You mean, help you as well, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Erik doesn’t say a word but his thoughts are practically yelling, ordering, asking: _yes, yes_ ; and the doctor sits back with a satisfied smile.

“Please, call me Erik,” says Erik at last. The man nods. They are in agreement.

_“What’s your mutation? I suppose you have one…”_

_“I’m a telepath.”_

_“Oh really? Can you read my mind now?”_

_“Actually, I could but I wouldn’t penetrate without consent.”_

_“Please. Penetrate.”_

Their appointments with Charles mostly contain chess games and flirting. Erik has to, between two sentences that intend to be seductive, move the figures without touching, and since his attempts usually prove to be unsuccessful, he, annoyed by this state of seemingly doing nothing, pushes it forward with his finger, and they flirt some more. Charles carefully tries to nudge Erik towards his limits but the man can move the figures only now and then. And Charles, being the smart man he is, connects the dots quickly: extremes. Erik can use his power when he doesn’t pay attention,

‒ or when he really wants to reach his goal.

Therefore Charles attacks the man right at the beginning of their next appointment: he pushes him to the white wall of the office, kissing him passionately ‒ Erik’s teeth bite into his lips sharply, Charles strokes his strong upper body ‒, and when Erik lays him on the table, he holds up his arms and says:

“Undress me.”

“That’s my plan,” Erik moans and starts doing so.

Charles stops him again and hisses. “Undress me without your hands.”

Erik groans in disagreement and continues to suck on Charles’ lips. Charles lets him for a little while because _he’s enjoying it_ , and because, after all, this is the motivation, then he pushes the disapproving, fiery-eyed man from himself. Full with lust, Erik licks his own lips this time ‒ delicious, metallic taste ‒, and Charles feels his belt aggressively unbuckling.

“Very good,” Charles humms. “Now the rest of it.”

“Come on,” Erik tries hastening the chain of events. He’s caressing and grabbing Charles’ back under his tucked up shirt.

“I am really in no hurry. My next slot is empty too.” Charles blinks innocently at the other man. Leaning in, he whispers in his ear: “I’m all yours.”

Erik moans out of sheer passion, and Charles’ pristinely pressed trousers fall to his ankles. Erik grins lustfully and somewhat self-righteously. “There’s no metal on your boxers.”

“I’ll let you take those off with your hands. But you better enjoy it.”

Erik flashes a playful smirk, drops to his knees, and Charles feels his breath, and‒

“I think today’s appointment helped a lot, doctor,” Erik says with a mischievous grin. He’s standing in the door, his back to Raven and the patients in the waiting room. He thinks, _this was the greatest fuck in a long time_.

“I must agree with you on that. The skills you showed today were highly satisfactory,” nods Charles primly, his eyes flicker with playfulness. A voice echoes in Erik’s head, _HiGhlY sAtiSFacToRy_.

“I’ll see you next week.”

“I look forward to it, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

After Erik left, Raven’s eyes flash on him accusingly. Charles’ voice snaps in the head of the woman: _What? He’s sexy_. The woman rolls her eyes and turns away peevishly. Charles invites his next patient in.

Erik thought Charles’ private clinic was a palace. Well, then his home is… a castle. (Is there even a difference between those two? However it may be, Erik is impressed.) The living room they are sitting in ‒ because there are several living rooms ‒ is modern, leather and metal everywhere, pure and distilled. The unpleasantly light rays of the sun are shining in Erik’s face so he tries to snuggle his head more into Charles’ comfortable chest.

“What’s your mutation? I suppose you have one…”

“I’m a telepath.”

“Oh really? Can you read my mind now?”

“Actually, I could but I wouldn’t penetrate without consent.”

“Please. Penetrate.”

Charles slowly, theatrically places his fingers on Erik’s forehead, shuts his eyelids for a second, and hums: “…Hm.” Then a smirk spreads on his face, and looks at Erik with his sky-blue eyes that _see everything._ “Well, this thought can be acted upon right now,” he says as he untangles himself and lowers to his knees in front of Erik.

Exactly in this moment ‒ and, fortunately, not even one later ‒ Pietro storms in, and Charles jumps up quickly.

“Daddy, look what I found!”

 _You could’ve seen that_ , Erik thinks, and then he hears Charles’ response: _You were distracting me._ Erik sighs painfully. “I thought you were playing with… _wasistdas_ , Fatty or what’s its name… the dog. Or Wanda. Or both.”

“Chubby,” Charles informs Erik and leans to his side.

“Wanda found the library and she can’t be dragged out since,” states Pietro languidly.

Erik stares at Charles in disbelief. “There’s a library? Oh, don’t even answer that, of course there’s a library.”

“And Chubby can’t really keep up with me.” Pietro shrugs with a frown. “But look,” he starts to get excited again, “I found this!”

The boy is jumping and waving the object so fast Erik can’t make out the outline of it. He hisses: “ _Langsamer._ ” The kid stops guiltily and holds up the big, shiny ball with two hands.

“Remember what we learned, Pietro,” says Charles, then he looks at the acquisition. “Oh. Well, this is _Cerebro_.”

“What is a Seleblo?”

“It means brain in Spanish.”

“Awesome!”

“Please, Pietro, don’t play with this. And I’d like to ask you as well, if possible, to not go into my study room. I wouldn’t like you to get hurt.”

Pietro nods intensely and runs off to explore new terrain.

The question in Erik’s head: _What do you need a Cerebro for?_

Charles scratches his chin. “This is actually the prototype of Cerebro. I plan the real one to be much bigger. My goal is to gather all the mutants in the country.”

“I can help you build it.”

* * *

**△ _years later_ ▽**

Wearing a long, scarlet red dress gently tumbling down on her, Wanda is elegantly walking to the beat of the soft music on the carpet of white flower petals among the lines of chairs, linking arms with Pietro who is wearing a silver tux and desperately trying to concentrate on the rhythm. Reaching the red-haired woman at the painted-white and flower-decorated metal gate, they step aside and look out on the friends gathered together. Everyone is here who’s important to their family, who _are_ their family.

Erik and Charles, in matching yellow and blue ties, march in from two sides.

Jean begins the ceremony: she welcomes friends, acquaintances ‒ family members, really ‒, then expresses her genuine gratitude for being able to be here and being the one to do this. Charles’ eyes are already filling with tears and Erik laughs at him in his head. During the vows, Erik goes soft but, as a self-respecting human being, doesn’t show it (Charles knows though).

“And now, do you take one another, from this day forward, as husband and husband?”

“I do,” sobs Charles.

“I do,” glows Erik.

“Wanda, Pietro, please hand over the rings.”

The twins step forward. The silky box appears in the girl’s hand, and gives it to Erik. But the boy says: “Oops.” And Erik and Charles glance at him scared. Pietro calms them: “I know where it is! Just a moment.” And he disappears.

When he appears, Erik mumbles: “It was two moments.”

Pietro hands the ring to Charles, and he and Wanda move back again.

After the two men exchange their rings, Jean says ceremonially: “Finally. Now I officially announce you husband and husband. Mazel tov or whatever. Let’s have some cake!”

The celebration lasted seven nights and seven days, they ate and drank until they were full and drunk, and then some more, and they lived happily ever after…

(in a kinder universe.)

**△ _years later, actually_ ▽**

Wanda is lying on her back in the castle-like room that has become her home and that, by the way, is three times the size her old one was. She’s listening to the sounds with open eyes, wide awake: dad and Charles are fighting again, and they don’t know, how could they know, that Wanda can’t sleep until silence falls on the house.

Charles opened a school on the first floor of the huge building, where all of Wanda’s classmates are like her and Pietro. The two men created, in secret because they didn’t want the twins to babble about it accidentally in normal school, but Wanda saw it: dad forged and pieced it together with elegant jerks of his wrists and definite hand strokes, he created the monumental metal globe now standing in the garden. It’s called Cerebro. Charles used it to find the students of his school. (However, Wanda doesn’t know any of it, of course…) Since the school began working, dad and Charles began arguing. First they were bickering with experimental carefulness, only every now and then but it evolved into arguing, more and heavier ‒ and _Pietro_ doesn’t know anything about the whys, however, he can see, of course, how could he not see, that dad has been often angry and in a bad mood lately. (How happy he was for years…) Wanda hears the words: every fight is essentially about the two men having controversial ideas about the future of the students and their role in society.

And, honestly, Wanda is filled with childish fear. Charles has made dad so trouble-free, she wants that for him, not this; besides, she doesn’t want to lose Charles either who has become a second dad in her eyes. He’s so kind and protective, so sharply contrasting dad ‒ and that’s exactly why they work perfectly together. In raising her and Pietro, at least, definitely. Wanda knows who to turn to for support, soul-warming hugs, heartfelt advices ‒ and Wanda knows who to turn to for discipline, unorthodox solutions, practical suggestions. And Wanda loves one of them just as much as the other, and it seems unbelievable to her that these two smart, mature adults don’t realize they are stronger together than against each other precisely because of their differences.

The thought that she knows something these adult men don’t seems so unreckonable to her that she doesn’t say anything (they are surely aware, _surely_ ), and it’s too late at last: one night she hears Erik storm out of the dream palace, and when he returns the next morning, he orders the twins to pack their stuff. He says they are moving out. And Wanda never cries but Wanda is crying now, not visibly and not bitterly; Charles feels it anyway, and Charles’ heart almost breaks because to discover that Wanda is crying‒

Charles hugs her closely, fatherly, and whispers: “You’re old enough to make your own decisions,” and for some reason, Wanda knows this means she has to convince her dad to let her and Pietro still attend the Xavier School.

As the car is slowly rolling away, Wanda glances back to Charles who she has been thinking of as exemplary, intelligent, kind, and now she’s only seeing a small, poor man in front of a luxurious building, someone who has been taken everything from, who was robbed of his heart, a piece of his soul. Wanda can’t shake the feeling: all this is her fault. If she had said something, did something‒

Then a thought enters her head, somehow half in her voice, half in Charles’: maybe it’s not too late yet. And Wanda, now completely and perfectly in her own voice, decides to make her two dads turn to each other again.

She straightens herself, as she usually sits, and shoots an encouraging smile at Pietro. Everything will be fine.

(maybe.)


End file.
